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In Search of Candice

OFFICER DOWN

Driving through Chinatown toward his home in Echo Park, LAPD Detective Jason Stone's features contorted into a scowl. As if cruising on autopilot, with his mind distracted, the road ahead blurred into a vision of distorted taillights. Loneliness drenched him in self-pity, together with a sense of abject failure in his private life. The sultry voice of a female blues singer, accompanied by whiney slide-guitar riffs, boomed through the speakers. He didn't need a reminder of how crap he was feeling. The words of the song about rejection were too much to bear. He reached out and turned off the music, then switched on his police radio. Off duty, and returning home from his date after midnight, he cursed inwardly that it hadn't gone to plan.

Stone had hoped for something of interest over the airwaves to take his mind off not getting an offer to share his girlfriend's bed for the night. The last thing he'd expected was to get dumped. It still bugged him when Zoe had said that she couldn't imagine a future for them to keep seeing each other. To add to the insult, it really struck home, when she added that he loved his job more than he did her. It was little comfort to know that her last sentiment explained what had been troubling her all evening. He should have seen the signs when she had acted distant during their meal at the restaurant. It wasn't the first time he'd heard those words, and he doubted they would be the last. They were something of a cliché and went with the job. He didn't get it. It was beyond his reasoning why his ambition stood in his way of finding a partner, when his intention was to secure a future with a partner for life.

 He sighed knowing it would be back to the grindstone. Back to trawling the dating sites. There must be someone out there who would accept the dedication it took to bringing murderers to justice, he thought. Stone let out a soulful drawn-out sigh and then muttered, "C'est la vie," followed by, "Shit happens," his version of the translation.

The speakers crackled with static. Stone fiddled with the frequency knob on his police radio. He caught the last of a message.

"...all cars, urgent...please resp..."

He knew that it wasn't like them at dispatch to use 'please' or to sound emotional. Dispatchers were trained to be a calming influence in all situations. With the connection to his radio playing up, he tapped the console. The sense of urgency from the snippet of a message had his attention. Frustrated, he tapped the console once more, but this time with force.

"I repeat. Officer down. Officer down, respond."

Shaw slammed hard on the brake pedal, and then cussed at his lack of attention to the sound of tires screeching behind him, followed by the honk of a horn. As the car swerved past him, he turned up the volume.

"Shots fired. Priority one. All cars in the vicinity of Stadium Way at the intersection with Elysian Park Avenue, respond." Her voice had regained composure, almost an octave lower than her previous messages.

Stone threw a cursory glance in his rearview, swung his steering wheel and made an abrupt U-turn. Stamping on the gas pedal until it was almost touching the floor, he left a cloud of burnt rubber in his rearview. The Dodger's Stadium was just on the border of his duty area. He flicked the switch for his siren, then snatched his microphone from the cradle.

"Central Dispatch. Priority one, check that. Car forty-seven, homicide division. Responding to officer down. ETA five minutes to the scene."

The dispatcher responded right away. "Two code-four-seventeen suspects, driving a black SUV pickup. Witnesses at the scene. The suspects' vehicle was last seen heading along Stadium Way in the direction of the one, zero, one, freeway."

His mind raced with scenarios of what he'd find at the scene. Stone weaved in and out of the lanes of traffic. Bright lights zipped by. Revelers lined the streets, mostly departing the synthetic depiction of Asia that is Chinatown. With the neon facades, strings of lanterns, and false pagoda roofs behind him, he picked up Stadium Way. He was thankful that there wasn't much in the way of traffic in the area at that early hour in the morning. Spotting a pickup of that description would have been easy, but he'd seen nothing. Besides, from what the dispatcher had said, they'd driven in the opposite direction away from the scene. A flurry of calls from the dispatcher, and it looked as though the night shift would have the perimeter closed down, and hopefully they'd catch the shooters. One minute to go, and he'd picked up a line of patrol cars and an ambulance behind him.

Stone allowed himself a wry smile. The buzz of chasing down criminals, and bringing them to justice, was better than any roll in the sack. In that respect, he knew his girlfriend had been right. That thought was tempered with him now frowning at the fact that in this case, an officer was down. At the traffic lights along Elysian Park Avenue, Stone caught sight of a parked patrol car. The headlights were on, lighting up the intersection. Exhaust fumes condensed in the early morning air. He squinted, but he couldn't see anyone sitting in the car. Stone pulled over and stopped to the squeal of tires behind him. He paid them no attention and snatched at the handle to open his car door, elbowed it open, then ran over to the cop car. He prayed inwardly that the cop would be alive, but it wasn't looking good, not with the window on the passenger side blown out

Shoving his head through the open window on the driver's side, Stone called out, "You okay, buddy?" He had a good idea that his words were futile, when he didn't even get a grunt in response. Still, he couldn't stop himself from hanging onto hope. "Hang on in there. The paramedics are here."

He flicked on the vanity light and winced.

"Oh, shit, no."

The cop was slumped down across the handbrake consul. Stone felt for his carotid artery in the hope he would be hanging onto life, but there was no pulse. His head had multiple bullet entry wounds. Tails of blood and brain matter were splattered on the dash and windshield. The pattern was at odds with the direction of the entry wounds from the driver's side. He guessed that something high caliber had shot him through the window on the passenger side. He was still bleeding out, with blood dripping from the passenger seat onto the floor well. Stone imagined he'd been talking to a stiff. He was used to seeing corpses and horrific injuries, but this was the first time he'd seen a fellow law enforcement officer in such circumstances. Bile rose in his gullet. An acrid smell of the discharge from the murder weapons over the fumes from the exhaust still hung in the air. With the engine idling, Stone reached inside and turned off the ignition.

"Outta the way," someone growled.

The paramedic didn't have time for niceties. He pushed Stone to one side, snatched at the doorframe, and then leaned inside. Stone held on to the faint hope they would somehow work their magic on him to revive him.

"Nothing we can do," said one of the paramedics. "No vital signs. I'll contact the coroner's office."

"You do that," Stone said as the medic snapped his bag closed.

Stone bent over and held his knees, the strength sapped from his legs. He shook his head, and then sighed. Stone took a deep breath. Composed his self, and then turned his attention to what was a serious crime scene area. Traffic cops now surrounded him. He could see the look of concern in their eyes as if they searched for answers as to why it had happened to one of their own. He guessed they would be wondering the same as him, and that was, There but for the grace of God go I.

"Let the medics do their work," he said. "Position your cars to block the road." They turned and trudged away to follow his instruction.

A sense of his own mortality and vulnerability kicked in. All of a sudden, the feeling of invincibility that having a badge, and with a firearm at all times on his person, eluded him. He glanced around, nervously surveying the perimeter where assassins could be hiding, watching. It wouldn't be the first time that murderers had returned to the scene of their handy work.

Over at his vehicle, Stone picked up his microphone and called the dispatcher. "Could you arrange to get a chopper in the sky and have the crew check the perimeter with their thermal imaging camera? Hook them up with officers on the ground to coordinate if they spot anyone lying in wait."

"Affirmative."

He was acutely aware there was a possibility that the slaying of the officer could be a plan to draw those responding into a sniper's ambush. One thing was clear to him; patrolling the streets on duty had the fear factor turned up a notch. Stone's vision coursed around the perimeter. He hoped for some solid forensic results and witness accounts as he made an oath to catch those responsible, even if he had to die trying. He snatched his vision skyward to a thunderous roar.