Corrupt Page 3

Sitting in a dull lit room I wait for the other members of our section to arrive for our morning briefing. Slowly the rest of the crew sombrely sift in. One by one they take a seat. Everyone makes a reasonable effort to be there before the supervisors. Being late guarantees the limelight and the promise of some shit file from the previous shift.

  Today isn’t looking too bad for numbers, two sergeants, a senior sergeant in charge of the cells and eight constables on the street. I try not to think about what the day might entail as I wouldn’t want to jinx the shift by saying the ‘q’ word or even mention anything about a two week old dead body.

  After the top order waltzes in and the usual pleasantries are exchanged, each one takes their respective seat at the front of the room. Not too far behind them is the grouchy Intel troll who sits down and begins her spiel. Right on cue I can sense the team beginning to switch off. My eyes glaze over and I wonder if anyone else has noticed that while she is sitting there you can see up her skirt. This isn’t just a one off either, without fail every morning she will sit in front of everyone wearing a short skirt with her legs open just that fraction too far. You can’t see much, well nothing at all really, but unfortunately it’s enough to get the imagination stirring. A cheeky smirk comes across my face as I begin to recall the scene from ‘Old School’ when Will Ferrall’s character is in marriage counselling and he reveals his curiosity about what kind of panties a particular waitress may or may not be wearing. I don’t really want to be thinking about what colour or type of underpants the intel analyst might be wearing. It does seem inappropriate that I’m focusing on the undergarments of the analyst rather than the operational matters she is briefing us on, but as I have no self-control and my mind is a twisted labyrinth of heathenism, I’d like to think she was wearing something that I don’t even know about.

  Eventually the last Intel slide appears and it’s usually the picture of some ugly losers’ mug, which prompts everyone to switch back on.

  Sergeant Bryce Clinton starts by reading out the units for the shift.

  “KLI5 James and Sam”, no surprises there. These two are like an old married couple, they always seem to be bickering about something. I’m sure the tension between the two results from bedroom arguments about who is going to be the big spoon.

  “JVI5, Shaun and Amanda”, I’m certain that these two are only working together so that Amanda can report back to ‘The Senior’ every little detail about how Shaun is performing. My suspicions have been confirmed on more than one occasion when I’ve seen Shaun being summonsed to ‘The Seniors’ office and grilled about trivial matters that only Amanda would have been witness too. It also doesn’t help that Amanda and Sergeant Clinton have been in a relationship for some time and because of this, he’s wrapped around ‘The Seniors’ little finger. It’s a crock of shit if you ask me, but I get the feeling that as long as these two do as ‘The Senior’ wants then no doubt they will remain on section together.

  “WNI5 Chris and Jayden” both these guys are good value but they may as well be the section informants. We went to Police College together, so I was a bit more than let down when I heard that these two were the devoted minions of ‘The Senior’.

  “And finally WNI52, Mike and Nate” I think by now it’s become quite obvious that there is a definite divide in this section, which can only make for a very uncomfortable working environment.

  Mike and I have been working together for a couple of years now. We are pretty good mates and I don’t trust anyone more than I trust him. We’ve saved each other’s skin on more than one occasion be that from offenders or from other police officers.

  He’s a genuine smart arse / prankster, and I’m sure he only gets away with it because he’s a cheeky darky, but a lovable one. However on occasion this incomparable talent of his is responsible for his fall out with the bosses on a regularly basis. This of course means I fall out with them as well. Which is also how I found myself doing a stint on traffic for six months.

  The next Sergeant to address us is the one and only Trent Anderson. He is undoubtedly a very intelligent police officer and knows the job thoroughly. However, he can come across as an asshole and seems to strut around like a peacock with a ‘my dick is bigger than your dick attitude’. He quickly passes on any administrative issues, no big dramas here, just the usual reminders about keeping annual leave down, submitting timesheets, doing bail checks, giving out tickets, stopping vehicles, making sure we log in with communications when we are doing directed patrols, and crime prevention. After pausing to take a breath, he continues, make sure you get in any prosecution files due before days off, If you are maintaining a victim intervention plan keep on top of that and record the contact you do have with any other victims in the appropriate manner, and make sure you use your mobility devices when you can. Basically he goes on to say that if it can be measured as a statistic then it is important. The sarcasm in his voice is unmistakable. I know what he’s getting at and it’s not a good look when the senior members are just as disillusioned as the junior staff. But the constant flow of shit that projects from Police National Headquarters to the front line will crush the ideals that any recruit had when they first joined. Part of the problem is we have self-absorbed crusty old farts at the top who are so far disconnected from modern day policing, procreating with pencil pushing civilians who are only concerned about statistics and have no idea about policing, resulting in the birth of some fucked up policy and procedure. I can feel my temperature rise as I begin to think about the commissioner’s new prevention first policy roll out. There is nothing new about prevention first, it’s always been around, it was just known previously as common sense. But if they want us to wrap people in cotton wool and tuck them in at the end of every shift, so be it. This type of nurturing will only create a society that becomes reliant on the state to sort out their problems. Forget about letting people learn from their mistakes and being independent.

  Fuck, it’s so typical that everything gets left for general duties staff. It’s surprising that we even have time to attend to what our actual core business is, emergency response, which none of the above seems to be.

  Now to ‘The Senior’, Senior Sergeant Karen Michaels takes the podium. What can I say about Karen Michaels, apart from the fact that the whole section gravitates around her. Karen can either be a very powerful ally or a very powerful enemy, people seem to either love her or hate her. I’ve seen too many of my friends have their aspirations thwarted because she did not feel that they were ready to move on or to be more accurate, she wasn’t ready for them to progress.

  Karen begins to address the section and she passes on irrelevant gripes from the brass higher up. This is when my eyes glaze over and I start to think about that dream and not knowing what to make of it.

  As she is finishing up I’m reminded that I better pay homage to ‘The Senior’ with a bag of lollies or a fresh cup of coffee before I leave the station. At least this might guarantee my position within the circle of trust or at least somewhere near it for this rotation.

  As I slumped forward in my chair, the sound of a familiar voice pulls me back into reality. I turn to where the sound is coming from and see Mike’s mouth moving, “You awake bro?”

  I shake it off and stand up, “yep, you got a Taser?” I ask in the hope that he is a bit more organised than I am.

  “Already got it brother” he replies while swinging the keys around his index finger, “let’s go electrify someone’s day” he says with a laugh.

  As if on cue the radio comes to life with the dispatcher’s piercing nasally voice.

  “WNI52 from Comms” Mike answers in his stern radio voice stating that we are available “10-3 central, go ahead”.

  The dispatcher replies “Go to 11 Savage Crescent, we’ve had a No Speech Emergency Call come from the address, a Location of Interest search on the address shows it’s linked to Tamara Milson, she is flagged for previous Family Violence, drug user and assaults police, the last family violence
incident involved her partner Dion Hohepa, he is on current active charges for assaulting her and is bailed to another address, he’s got bail conditions to reside at 32 Linton Street and not to offer violence to Tamara Milson”.

  “Roger that comms, we’re 10-2” Mike acknowledges her transmission and lets her know that we are on our way.

  Mikes lead foot ensures that the trip there doesn’t take long. On arrival we cautiously approach the address and listen for anything out of the ordinary. I have the taser drawn and concealed behind my leg, well as much as I can conceal a giant yellow brick.

  As we are walking up the drive way Mike lets the dispatcher know we have arrived by giving code for arrival which is 10-7.

  She acknowledges this and asks for an early situation report.

  I flank the door and knock loudly while Mike is stacked up behind me watching our rear.

  No one comes to the door. My heart is racing, we can only assume the worst has happened, I pause for a moment, again I knock loudly accompanied with “It’s the police!”

  I can hear shuffling come from behind the door, again I knock and yell.

  “It’s the police, if you don’t come and open the door we will force entry”

  I can see a small silhouette through the glass panel reaching up to undo the lock, slowly the door opens and a small boy peers out through the gap.

  “Hey buddy, is your mum home?” I gently ask. He doesn’t say anything but I can see that his eyes are welled up, I wonder what he has seen this morning. “You alright mate, who’s at home with you?” the young boy just looks at me and I can see the uncertainty in his eyes. His mouth opens and words begin to form “Mom” he yells, there’s a pause for a moment, “Mom” he yells out again “the Pig Shits are here!!”

  I look back at Mike, “You got to be fucken kidding me, and did he just say what I thought he said?”

  Mike laughs “the little bastard, he looked no more than 10 years of age”

  He runs off, as who I can only assume is his mother, opens the door, “don’t use those fucken words you little shit” she hurls at him.

  “That wasn’t exactly called for was it?” I question the female.

  “I fucken dealt with it alright” she hisses back at me. No wonder the little shit has a foul mouth with her as a role mother.

  I take a moment to assess this female who is standing in front of me in her pyjamas while Mike gives a sit rep to the dispatcher stating that we are speaking to Tamara and there are now issues.

  Her appearance suggests that she has lived a hard life, long black raggedy hair, crappy homemade tattoos, and gaunt features. She looks as if she has just climbed her way out of a crypt. It’s quite sad really, as she is only a few years older than me.

  “Tamara?” I query this harsh looking stranger standing in front of me.

  “What do you want” she replies as if she’s surprised and almost disgusted to see us.

  “Just here for a casual visit and a cup of tea” I tease. She looks at me unimpressed.

  “We’re here because someone from this address has called the police, asked for help and then hung up”.

  “Nah, just fuck off” Tamara replies.

  “Did you call” I ask knowing that the question is rhetorical but I’m interested in what she might say.

  “Just fuck off, you’re not needed now” she snares.

  “What do you mean we are not needed now, tell me what happened” I reply, trying to sound as if I genuinely care.

  “Nothing happened, you guys are fucken useless, go away”

  “Well, what has happened that caused you to ring police? Was Dion here?” I ask.

  She looks at me defiantly, she knows that we are assuming the worst so she decides to give us some information about why we were called “It was just an argument with my daughter, everything is fine, nothing happened”.

  “Okay, because you said that you have had an argument with your daughter we have to complete a family violence report about what has happened and who was involved” I reply.

  Tamara stares at me with a look of discontent, she knows all too well exactly what we need to do. There has been over 50 recorded family violence incidents involving her. In all reality I could just give her the report to fill out herself and get her to drop it off at the station before the end of the shift.

  “Can you get your daughter so that we can make sure she is okay?”

  “Nah she left” Tamara says in an almost saddened voice.

  “Do we need to come into the house and check if she’s in there”’ I threaten.

  “No, you’re not coming in here” she exclaims.

  “Do I really need to remind you that we have a power of entry to make sure everyone is okay Tamara?”

  “For fuck sake” she says “If you fucken have too, come in”.

  The house is exactly what I’ve come to expect from one of our repeat customers an untidy, smelly house that is shown no respect. Each room reveals a new stench that assaults the senses and surprisingly reveals that Tamara is telling the truth.

  “Okay, Tamara thanks for your time, we’ll get out of your hair now and leave you to your day” I sarcastically say.

  Begrudgingly she thanks us, and we walk back to the patrol car.

  Mike pipes up “I can’t be arsed driving” and throws the keys in my direction.

  Once out of ear shot and inside the car the usual bagging of our customer begins.

  “Fuck, I don’t know how many times I’ve dealt with this woman, I get so sick of people ringing us because they can’t control their fucken children or maintain a normal adult relationship” Mike exclaims.

  “I just wanted to tell her not to ring us next time if she is just going to tell us to fuck off as soon we arrive” I reply.

  “The maggot has caused us at least 30 minutes of paper work and now we are going to need to speak with her daughter” Mike says with disgust.

  I’m focusing on reversing down the drive way while Mike continues to vents his frustration.

  “Don’t you mean it’s caused you another 30mins of paper work” I say with a grin, in an effort to wind him up further.

  “Piss off” he retorts while tapping the number on his shoulder, inferring that he is more senior to me, therefore it’s my job to complete the report.

  “Sweet as, but you got the next one” I secretly hope is some shitty enquire file something that just hangs around and doesn’t quite go away.

  Mike picks up the radio letting the dispatcher know how to result the job and that we are available “Comms from WNI52, K-6 that thanks and we’re 10-3”

  Back at the station I sit down to complete the report.

  As I start reading the past family violence occurrences, I wonder why a person would allow themselves to be abused constantly by another. She comes across as a hard person, but the occurrences say otherwise. The first recorded incidents tell the tale of an innocent young girl who has consistently witnessed her father physically and psychologically abuse her mother. I suppose she’s just carrying on the good example that her parents set down for her. The sad thing is that she acts the exact same way that her parents acted in front of her. Unfortunately this cycle will just continue and her children will see this dysfunctional behaviour as normal and thus I will be kept in a job, which I’m not sure is a good thing.

  I hate stats, but the fact that Police attend nearly 200 family violence incidents in a day, that’s one every seven minutes can’t be ignored. Fifty percent of all murders each year result from a family violence incident. No matter what new policy the police hierarchy put in place, it will never change the culture that is engrained in our society. It’s at these moments that I remember that we will always be the ambulance at the bottom of the cliff and we will never be able to prevent it.

  Randomly, I remember a question that I was asked by one of the local cops when I was along for work experience before joining the police. He just simply asked “Why don’t yo
u get into I.T”

  Why didn’t I quiz that cop further about his question? He obviously asked it for a reason. My answer to him was simply I didn’t know. Well I did know, but I was never big on computers. Still, at that moment in my life it would have been the perfect time to start some form of study. I just didn’t know what to pursue. I definitely had ideas and had put plenty of thought into the matter, but I just couldn’t find anything that really got me excited. Maybe I should have just picked something to see where that took me. I was enjoying my unemployment too much to not really care. I rationalised this with the mind-set that I’m going to spend the rest of my life working so I may as well savour this while I can.

  As I am putting the last touches on the family violence report, the dispatchers piercing nasally voice slices through my ear.

  Chapter Four