Frank Zafiro - Under a Raging Moon

“Baker-123.”

Kopriva clicked the mike, an informal response that most dispatchers frowned upon. But, Janice manned the data channel tonight, and she didn’t mind.

“Wilson is not in locally. DOL is clear through 1998 with lenses.”

Kopriva clicked the mike again. He’d already written the ticket for failing to stop for a steady red light. He exited his vehicle and approached Wilson. The date on her driver’s license put her at forty-three, but she looked ten years younger, dressed in slacks and a business-like blouse. He hadn’t smelled any alcohol on her breath and figured she just worked really late.

Or maybe she was fooling around with some guy. Who knew?

“Mrs. Wilson,” he recited, “this is a notice of infraction for failing to stop at a steady red light at Division and Indiana. Please sign here.” He held out the ticket book and a pen, indicating the line for her signature. “Signing is not an admission of guilt, only a promise to respond within fifteen days.”

“But that light was yellow,” she protested, not reaching for the proffered ticket book.

“It was red, ma’am.”

“Well, I would like to tell you my side of the story.”

“Ma’am, I don’t care about your side of the story. You failed to stop for the light. I am citing you. Please sign.” Kopriva did not raise his voice.

“That isn’t fair,” she told him. Her eyes narrowed and her face tightened.

“Ma’am, one of your options is to go to court and tell the judge your side of the story.”

“No. I won’t sign it.”

Kopriva paused, staring at her.

“I won’t sign it,” she repeated.

Kopriva suppressed a sigh. “Ma’am, if you do not sign this, I will be forced to write you a criminal citation for failing to sign a notice of infraction. If you refuse to sign that, you will be booked into jail.”

She looked at him, obviously shocked at the word ‘jail.’ “Oh, that is just ridiculous.”

“It’s the law.”

She considered, and then reached for the ticket book. She angrily scrawled her name on the ticket. “I want your name and badge number,” she insisted.

“It’s on the ticket,” Kopriva told her, handing her the driver’s copy. He walked briskly back to his car.

Sitting behind the wheel, he shut off the spotlight with his left hand and punched the button to extinguish the bright take-down lights on top of the car. The woman signaled, paused, and pulled out into traffic. Kopriva slid the ticket in the visor above him.

He didn’t feel any better.

He reached for his mike to clear the stop when a shrill tone broke over his radio.

2215 hours

Patrol Captain Michael Reott sat at the head of the table. He’d just finished a short introduction outlining what he hoped to see any task force accomplish. He also covered some of the pitfalls he hoped such an endeavor would avoid. Lieutenant Hart, Lieutenant Saylor and Sgt. Michaels occupied seats at the table with him. Michaels sat in for the vacationing Lieutenant Powell.

“So what options do we have?” Reott said, signaling that he’d finished talking for awhile.

Hart pounced on the opening. “Sir, the media is skewering us over this. We need to be high profile on this task force. Back them off a little bit.”

Reott paused, considering the logic.

Saylor disagreed. “Cap, the newspaper is going to bash on us no matter what. That’s a given, but the television media has been pretty fair. I mean, the guy has gotten away with how many armed robberies? Fourteen, fifteen?”

“Fifteen,” Hart supplied.

“Fifteen, then,” Saylor allowed. “Plus, he’s shot at cops and now he’s killed a guy.”

“What’s your point, Rob?” Reott asked.

“The point is we have to get this sonofabitch before he kills someone else. Telling everyone that we are forming a task force takes away the element of surprise. If he watches TV and sees a news report, he’ll be more cautious. We need to capitalize on his carelessness.”

Reott considered, but did not commit. “What about the copy-cats?”

Hart jumped in. “A highly publicized effort on our part will deter further copy-cats. They will be too afraid of getting caught.”

“What’s to fear?” Saylor asked. “This guy is fifteen-for-fifteen.”

“And the only copy-cat is oh-for-one,” Hart shot back.

Saylor shrugged. “Even so, you can expect more copy-cats the longer this goes. Which is why we have to shut this guy down.”

Reott looked at Michaels, who gave a shrug. “We need to catch him, that’s all I know. What are the detectives doing? We don’t want to step on their operations.”

Hart spoke up again. “My plan won’t have any negative impact on whatever the investigative division is doing.”

“Which doesn’t look like much,” Saylor said wryly.

Reott shrugged. “They’ve been as successful as we have.” He motioned to Hart. “Lay out your plan.”

Hart beamed. “Thank you, Captain. My plan is to ask for volunteers during the hours Scarface has hit the most, twenty-two hundred to zero two hundred hours. Seven total cars. Five cars will sit off on particular stores. We’ll rotate which ones throughout the shift. At the same time, two cars will cruise between the five selected stores as a mobile response to augment patrol. Radio silence is to be observed. All units will use their regular call signs if they have to break radio silence. A code-word will be used, which will be given out at roll-call. If a surveilling unit sees a robbery shaping up, they get on the air, call the code-word and location. Instead of a time-delay, we get started before the robbery is even completed.”

He leaned back, obviously pleased with his plan.

Saylor nodded his approval. “It’s a good plan. The unit on surveillance has to be extra careful, though, as far as engaging the suspect. Keeping a visual on him would be best, even if he gets out of the store before patrol arrives. At least this way, we might get a good perimeter set up and force him to go to ground. Then we could bring in the K-9 for a track.”

Reott pursed his lips. “Okay, but do you foresee any liability issues with that unit basically watching a robbery take place?”

“No,” both lieutenants responded simultaneously. Saylor motioned for Hart to continue.

“It’s a matter of officer safety, sir,” Hart told him. “We can’t expect a plain-clothes officer to engage an armed robber with no back-up, if all he’s doing is taking the money. We might take some heat in the press, but we’d come out all right.”

“If the guy starts shooting, that’s a different story,” Saylor added. “No cop will stand by while that’s happening.”

Reott, nodding, mulled over Hart’s explanation for a few moments, then looked at all three and continued. “I think we’ll go with Alan’s plan. It’s sounds like a good one and it’s better than the wait-and-react we’ve been doing.”

“Thank you, sir.” Hart said.

“Choose your people and brief them carefully,” Reott instructed. “I’ll okay the overtime with the Chief.”

“And the media?” Hart asked.

Reott considered, “Let’s keep this quiet unless the word on the task force leaks out. Then we’ll invite them in and give them the inside scoop if they keep it quiet until we catch the guy. Make ’em an ally for once.”

Saylor and Hart both nodded. Reott felt a sense of accomplishment for his diplomatic effort.

The phone rang. Michaels, being the junior man, automatically answered it. He listened for a few seconds, then replaced the receiver.

“He just hit again,” the sergeant said. “Number sixteen. Time delay is only two minutes.”