Spend The Night In A Police Car

            Officer C G has been a police officer for six years, but we’ve been friends for more than a decade. In college, we worked together at the parking department. In fact, my wife trained him. In my five years working the student job, I jumped back and forth between being a cashier and a student supervisor. At the end of my tenure, C became one of four managers in the department. While he was technically my boss, I never saw him in that manner. This is not a slight towards him, but more his position. He was doing the full-time duties of what I did. I got paid to sit in an office with him and watch movies or play poker on a homemade table fashioned from an overturned garbage can with a board on top of it. This was a stop-gap job for C. The occupation that he wanted was that of his father, a police officer.

            At eleven p.m. on a Tuesday night, C and I met in the parking ramp that housed the University of Iowa Office of Public Safety. This encompasses three branches: Security, Police, and Fire. As I approached him, C was standing at the cab of his truck wearing mesh shorts, a t-shirt and flip flops. Inside the station, I waited in the lobby, a small area with several plastic-backed chairs, a counter filled with pamphlets about last year’s crime statistics, rape victim advocacy and paperwork for pressing charges. While I was sitting there, C got a privacy form for me to fill out. The entrance wall was glass, giving me a sense of self-awareness. People could watch me as they stood outside this wall. I assumed that someone was watching me from behind one of the glass partition windows labeled “Records” and “Police.” C came out of the office and handed me a sheet of paper, telling me to fill it out while he got ready. On one side was a waiver, absolving them of any liability. On the other, there was a confidentiality agreement. That being said, all names have been fabricated to protect their identities.

            When he walked back into the lobby, he was no longer C, but Officer G. Concerning his station, this is how I will address him henceforth. He was now wearing an outfit that added considerable bulk. He had an undershirt, a bulletproof vest and then his jacket. His uniform, along with his heavy duty belt was greatly compartmentalized. He had pockets, clips, wires, and holsters to hold his equipment. He was carrying a large reinforced duffle bag filled with paperwork, notebooks, and a few personal items. We went out into the garage as he inspected his vehicle’s various lights, sirens, and electronic devices.

            As we walked down the hall to roll call, I thought about police movies. I thought about a room filled with dozens of police officers sitting at tables as the captain filled them in on the nitty-gritty details of the night’s work. In reality, the room was set up like a classroom. Two rows of tables faced the front, with a hanging HD television on each side of the room. We were the last two to enter the room, making three officers and six guards.  The briefing was much more casual than I had expected. The Captain stood in front, reading from notes on a clipboard.

“Here is a picture of a gentleman that was apprehended earlier. As it turns out, he wasn’t the man that we were looking for, but if you see him, be wary; he does not like uniforms. He has been hanging out by the bridge next to the university library. He better watch out for…what the hell is his name? You guys know who I’m talking about; the guy with the knife. Regardless, here’s his picture. He looks like he’s a whole ninety pounds, sixty-five years old. It’s been a quiet night. G, you’re on the west side. We’ve been requested to check on the work site over by the Art Building. I guess they’ve been leaving their tools lying outside at night. Also, we need to check out Carver Arena. I guess that a couple of the doors were open at four a.m. yesterday. We don’t know if it was custodial, or construction.  Hunter, you’re on the east side. Be careful out there; do good for God, King and Country.” With that, we went to Officer G’s squad car and started the patrol.

First, we got gas. As we were filling up, I told Officer G that my wife said to me that I would probably end up at my work, the ER. I didn’t think that would happen because I had only seen Officer G at the ER on business one single time. Next, we drove around a few dormitories. In one, a few girls were standing outside, talking to some boys on the second floor.

“There’s a wrestling camp this week,” Officer G said. The University of Iowa has had the premier wrestling program in the country for more than the last quarter century. Boys and young men from across the globe come to Iowa City for such camps. “They’re notoriously rowdy. We’ll sit here for a little bit and check out what’s going on.” With that, he clicked on the laptop that sat in between the front seats. It displayed all the communication coming in from 911 and regular police calls. After a few minutes, we moved along, occasionally shining the spotlight on stairwells and down alleyways.  “Ever since the Spence Lab was broken into a few years ago, we have to patrol all of the locations that house animals,” he explained to me.

At the art building, we got out and looked around. It had been three years since the building was flooded out, and they had yet to finish the reconstruction. Through the windows, we could see that it looked as if they were mere to the point of hanging drywall. Outside, hammers, wrenches, a broom, and a jackhammer were sitting on the sidewalk. This is why people live in places like this, I thought — a small-town feel of trust in others.  Officer G scanned the premises with his flashlight and down into a pond.

“I should warn you that if we’re out walking around a lot, there are a bunch of skunks. You need to watch out for those.” Skunks. I had lived in Iowa City for eleven years, and I never knew that there even was a skunk population. As we walked back to the patrol car, we saw a group of drunken people stomping down the sidewalk.

“I suppose I should also tell you that you can come along for anything, except a traffic stop. You have to stay in the vehicle for that. We do record that, including anything inside the cruiser.”

“So I need to keep the commentary to myself?” I said.

“You need to keep it internal. Anything that you don’t feel comfortable with, you can stay in the vehicle,” Officer G paused to think. “Like if we get a gun call.”

We got in the patrol car and watched the group of drunkards stumbling along, and I wondered what type of police officer Mr. G was. I shifted in my seat so that I could see his body language as I asked, “What kind of police officer are you? Do you give a lot of citations? How do you deal with drunk people?”

He nodded, pointing with his chin, “You mean like that guy? I didn’t see him publicly urinate. I try to be understanding and fair.” He slowed the vehicle, and we watched the kid zip up and ran to catch up with his friends. “We’ve all been there, and if they aren’t hurting anybody or causing too much trouble, I usually give them a warning.” He turned his attention away from the group and drove off.

“Do you drive a normal route, or do you drive around and look for suspicious activity? Is there a normal routine?”

“I hate the word routine. In my job, routines can get you killed. If you fall into a routine, you start going through the motions and don’t pay attention, and that could literally get you killed. I don’t like to drive the same route. I have certain places that I try to hit, but I try to avoid falling into a pattern.”

Then we got the first call of the night. Out at Lake Macbride, a girl got separated from her group of friends, and they hadn’t heard from her in hours. Officer G accepted the call, and we headed north of town. As we were driving there, we found out that the girl had two possible warrants out for her arrest.

Then through the radio, I heard a description of the girl. “...last seen wearing a bathing suit.” Lake Macbride houses a raptor center for injured or captured birds of prey, several camping areas and a spillway that is often visited illegally. The girl and her friend were drinking at the spillway when a park ranger approached them about vacating. He was merely telling them to move up to the campsites, but the girl, being on probation, was scared of an approaching man in uniform and ran off. After several hours, her friends were concerned and called the police. The last time that she had been seen, she was heavily intoxicated. This was not a bounty hunt, but a search and possible rescue.

When we got to Lake Macbride, Officer Hunter was waiting at a parking area in front of the area where the girl and her friends were last seen. When we stepped out of the patrol car, it was hot, muggy and pitch dark. Officer Hunter’s squad car was parked behind the empty vehicle of the girl. After searching the immediate vicinity around the cars, we headed down the path towards the campsite where the girl had been. Because we couldn’t find an extra flashlight, Officer G handed me his cell phone. As we walked further down the path, I used a flashlight application not to look for the girl, but to watch my step. At each encampment, we stopped and surveyed the area. I held my hand over each fire pit, thinking that it might tell us that we were at the correct spot. They were all cold. By the time that we reached the final camping area, the only thing that we had found were raccoons. Next, we progressed down to the spillway.

What was difficult for me was that I didn’t know exactly what I was looking for. Granted, I had a description of what the girl looked like, but I didn’t know if I should be looking for somebody that was passed out drunk or somebody that was hiding in the trees, seething with anger. At the spillway, we were assisted by the light of the moon. I didn’t realize that I had taken the lead in climbing up the rocks until Officer G told me that I should stay behind; just in case. It is my nature to go first and take the lead, and this was the first time that I had seen Officer G do as such. I was quite impressed, to be honest. This was a reminder that he was Officer G, a seasoned vet. He was looking out for the well-being of not only me but also for this girl with a shady past. Then he chuckled to himself,

“I don’t think that your wife would be too happy with me if something happened to you.”

We located the spot where the party had been drinking and eating McDonald’s, but there was still no sign of the girl. After a bit, we walked back up the rocks. Natural steps were devised by roots in the dirt, and I was glad that I wasn’t wearing the multi layers that the other two were.

When we made it back to the patrol cars, we had already spent several hours looking for a girl that I was convinced was no longer around. Officer G radioed into headquarters as Officer Hunter left a note on the girl’s car stating that if she came back, to wait there, as we would be returning to this location several times throughout the night. I thought, at this point, we would go back to Iowa City. But Officer G wasn’t ready to give up the search. We got into his squad car and drove down several more pathways, occasionally stopping so that he could scan areas with his spotlight.

“I guess that I picked a good night to ride along,” I told him. “I was a little worried that we would just be downtown giving public intox tickets to the drunken college kids all night.”

“Well, this is definitely not a normal night for me,” he said. “I’ve never done anything like this before.”

 After driving down several more paths without success, we met up with Officer Hunter in a large parking area in front of a public bathroom.

“Did you look inside, yet?” Officer G asked.

“No, not yet,” Hunter replied.

“Well…let’s check in there and go back up to the front gate.”

Officer G took the lead, opening the door to the small hut.

“Police. Anybody in here?” Then he turned around and nodded inside, mouthing the words “She’s in there.” I thought he was joking until I heard a female say,

“I’m sorry to cause any trouble.”

I walked into the room, and there she was; bloodied, bruised and topless. She was sitting on the toilet, with toilet paper wrapped around her, holding her right arm straight and away from her body.

“I think I broke my arm,” she said.

Immediately, Officer G stepped into action. He radioed headquarters and let them know that we had found the girl and that she needed medical attention. He questioned her about her well-being and did a brief inspection of her injuries. In addition to her arm, she was covered with the inevitable superficial lacerations from walking through the forest in the dark. Her hair was matted with blood on the back of her head from which she was still actively bleeding. An ambulance was called, and Officer Hunter went to the front gate to escort the paramedics to us. Officer G stood in front of the stall where the girl was sitting, asking her what had happened while I held the door open, letting the fresh air into the stuffy room. The girl explained that after getting separated from her group, she had fallen backwards on a path, injuring her arm, scraping her back and hitting her head. She said that she made it to this shelter and wrapped herself up and occasionally sat under the hand dryer for heat. I looked at the wall, and dried blood spotted the area below the dryer. Inside the squad car, there wasn’t an extra blanket, but we did locate a package about the size of a deck of cards. Inside the packet looked like an aluminum foil sheet. I had no idea what its purpose was, but we unfolded it, and let the girl wrap herself up with it.

While we waited, Officer G started small talk, asking the girl if she was a student and what she studied, where she was from and so on. When the conversation waned, she wondered if she was in trouble. Officer G deflected these questions, stating that her well-being was his primary concern.

“We’ll deal with that when the time comes. Until then, I want to make sure you’re ok.”

When the ambulance arrived, they questioned her for a while before she agreed that she should go to the Emergency Room. Initially, she stated that she just wanted to go home and go to sleep, telling the paramedics that she would go in the next day. But with the combination of her arm and bleeding head, it made sense for her to go to the ER.

As we followed the ambulance, I kept shaking my head as I thought about the events that had just played out. I watched the girl in the back of the ambulance. She looked like she was in a space suit.

“Back to work,” I said.

At the ER, we were met by the Captain carrying the girl’s purse.

“You aren’t allowed to go on any more ride-alongs,” he said with a smile. Policemen, much like people in the ER are incredibly superstitious. There are those that will do everything that they can to prevent one from saying words like such as slow, boring, and routine. The Captain didn’t seem to be an exception.

While we were wandering through the dark woods, he was talking to the girl’s friends. They were all in different stages of inebriation, but one girl stated that she might have seen the girl jump into the lake and not come up. This small statement created a lot of havoc for the Captain. Once the sun was to come up, boats were ready to start dragging the waters and dogs were at the ready for searching the campsites.

“Good job, fellas,” he said. “You saved me a lot of heartburn.”

As officer G went to talk to the girl’s doctor, I followed him at a casual pace, with my hands behind my back. Then a nurse looked at me wide-eyed and mouth agape when I realized that he thought that I was handcuffed. I held up both hand.

“No no no, I’m just hanging out.”

As we were walking out, I could see the draw to being a police officer. It was the same thing that had me interested in being a teacher and working in the ER. They are all jobs that involve public service, meant to help others. But they are all things that have no normal. You can have common occurrences, but you simply can’t plan for an intoxicated, lost girl out in the middle of the woods wrapped up in toilet paper with a possible warrant for her arrest.

How about you? Have you ever ridden in a police car either front or back?