Eddie had called JP immediately after Max had been loaded into the ambulance. His life wasn’t in any immediate danger but any gunshot wound to the torso was reason for concern. The hit to his vest? Not that big a deal. The bullet wound to his thigh? Again, not that big a deal. Yeah. It was a bullet wound, but there was no arterial bleed and Max had plenty of muscle. Tissue would heal. His life wasn’t threatened. But the bullet wound to his torso, even as low and off to the side as it was, could present some dangerous complications depending on what had been hit internally.
By the time the ambulance got the hospital, JP was already there. Eddie pulled his car in right behind the ambulance, having called his wife to tell her what was going on while he drove over. The Chief should up about fifteen minutes later.
Max was taken straight into surgery. It was about four hours later before the lead surgeon came out asking for any relatives. Eddie stepped up with the Chief standing on one side of him and JP on the other. “There are no relatives here, doc,” said Eddie. “He doesn’t have much to do with his folks and his sister hasn’t been notified yet. We wanted to let him make the decision on whether or not to do that.” The doctor nodded, looking at the Chief and Eddie, both in uniform, and then at JP who was not. “His fiancé,” said Eddie, answering the doctor’s unasked question.
“Very well,” said the doctor. “Officer Breaklin is stable. He has no broken bones and the thigh wound will be healed within a couple weeks. The bullet passed cleanly through and the exit wound was barely larger than the entrance wound. The wound to his pelvis was a bit more severe. The bullet nicked his small intestines and descending colon on the way in before chipping the face of his pelvic bone where it stopped. The nicks to his digestive tract were easy to repair and I expect no complications from them. The chip in his pelvic bone will take time to heal and until it does, walking will cause him some discomfort.”
JP looked relieved. Eddie nodded. The Chief stood stone-faced as if the doctor hadn’t said anything of importance. Eddie knew the man. It wasn’t that the Chief didn’t care; he just would maintain a professional image even in the face of good or bad news.
“Can we see him?” asked JP. What she really wanted to know was could SHE see him but it was a matter of Eddie’s courtesy that she was there anyway.
“He’s not conscious at the moment,” replied the doctor. “You can wait with him for a while if you’d like, but I don’t expect him to wake up for another eight to ten hours. Perhaps you’d rather return later today during normal visiting hours? We’ll have him in a room by then.” It was the middle of the night was his polite message. The attack on The Breakers’ headquarters house had occurred after nine p.m. Between the time of the attack and the time Max had been in surgery, it was now roughly three in the morning. None of them had even paid attention.
“Of course,” said JP. “Thank you.” Eddie and The Chief both shook the doctor’s hand and watched him walk away.
The Chief turned to Eddie and said, “Contact the Press Information Officer first thing in the morning. Give them a usable statement about this incident, the success of Viper team in preventing greater violence and make sure I get a copy before they release it.”
“Yes, sir,” replied Eddie, almost to the Chief’s back as he turned to walk away. Eddie turned to JP and their eyes met. “You okay?” he asked her. She nodded in reply but her eyes were full of tears. “Wanna go find a drink? Or want me to take you home?” he asked.
“I’m fine, Eddie, thanks,” JP finally managed. “I’m going to go back to Max’s place for some sleep and then I’ll be here when visiting hours start in the morning. I want to be here when he wakes up if he’s not already awake before I get here.”
“I understand,” Eddie said, but he could see the fear and anxiety that still held fast to JP. He reached out to take her hand and gave it a squeeze. “Stop worrying so much. You of all people know how strong Max is and the doctor said he’d be fine. This isn’t anything he can’t come back from. In a month he’ll be his usual ornery self.” He forced himself to smile as he said the last part but he wasn’t sure JP was buying it.
“I know,” JP replied. “I just can’t imagine…” and then her words trailed off. What was really scaring her was the thoughts in her own head, not Max’s injuries or condition. She had long ago promised herself she’d never date or get involved with a cop for this very reason: she didn’t want to deal with middle of the night calls and hospital waiting to find out if your loved one was going to live or die, and if they lived, in what condition? What was scaring her was her own doubt about her ability to stay in a relationship where she might have to ever experience this again.
- - - - - - - - - -
Despain drove The Breakers’ van that he had “borrowed” from their garage during his first attack. He had loaded all of the guns he’d used… anything he had from his various attacks and anything that might have allowed the Oceanside police to track it back to him. After his assault on the Breakers’ headquarters house, he had planned to either be done or be dead. Fortunately, he smiled to himself, he wasn’t dead – so he had to be done. Now it was time to leave Oceanside and put it behind him. He was 99% sure that whoever had killed his daughter, and all of their associates, had been killed. Justice had been served.
He pulled the van into the center of the college parking lot. The lot lights were on but no one was around. He had prepared the van with some white phosphorous and some thermite before the attack. He didn’t want to have to deal with it after the assault. Looking around to make sure the van wasn’t near anything else, including the parking lot lights, he put it in park, left it running and set the parking break. Getting out he locked all the doors and started walking away. He had the detonator in his hand and waited until he was about fifty yards away before pushing the switch over and then pushing the button.
The muffled THUMP of the small plastic explosive charges going off inside the van were barely heard or felt. Those small charges were purely for the purpose of spreading the white phosphorous and then igniting it. The thermite was also detonated. It had been positioned to insure that the fuel systems would ignite, and they served their purpose well. When THAT went off, the van burst into flames, the windows all blowing out and what looked like liquid metal spraying out through the openings.
Despain didn’t have to walk far and he only looked back once. Every gun he had used… the knives… the gloves… all the clothing he’d worn… it was ALL in that van. The van was burning so hot that the flames were blue and white. The metal body was visibly melting. Confident that there’d be nothing for the police to use to tie him to the van or any of the attacks on The Breakers, he kept on going. A couple hundred yards later he was climbing into his car and heading west. He still had a month before he had to either be back to work or turn in his resignation. That was plenty of time to enjoy seeing some of the country between the east coast and Missouri. Maybe a trip to Louisiana? Down the west coast of Florida? He’d always wanted to camp in the Grand Canyon. Maybe he’d head southwest…
- - - - - - - - - -
Max woke up confused by where he was and feeling groggy. His stomach was queasy and hungry at the same time. He had a raw feeling that felt like it stretched down his whole left side and some discomfort in his right arm. He opened his eyes but didn’t move his head, taking in the ceiling above him. The lights weren’t bright but it wasn’t the darkness of his bedroom either. Turning his head to the right he saw a blank wall; to his left he saw a window… and some equipment… a stand… something electronic…
“Hey there,” came JP’s voice from down past his feet. He lifted his head to look and realized he was in a hospital bed. His view took in the IV needle in his right arm, the bed, and the woman he loved just standing up out of a chair… setting aside her iPad.
Max tried to reply to her with a, “Hey there,” of his own, but it came out more like a croak. Looking to his left, where he’d seen a bedside table or stand of some kind, he hoped to find something to drink. Just the thought of swallowing something made his stomach rumble and he thought about food. That made his mouth water and he swallowed what little moisture there was. Even as JP was picking up a Styrofoam cup to bring to him he managed to get out what he was trying to say. “Hey there, yourself.”
“How do you feel?” JP asked, as she held the cup and offered the straw to his lips. He sipped and swallowed, sipped and swallowed and then pushed the straw out of his mouth with his tongue.
“Awesome,” he replied in an obviously sarcastic tone. “I feel like I could run a marathon,” he added for more good humor.
“Well,” JP smiled down at him, “let’s not go there just yet. Maybe take a few days off and get the stitches out before you start running miles and miles?”
“Stitches…” Max said. It wasn’t a question. He thought for a moment and then asked, “How banged up am I?”
JP was careful in her answer. On the one hand she didn’t want to lie to him but on the other she didn’t want to make it sound worse than it was. “Not so bad really,” she finally said. “Nothing’s broken. You were shot twice. The leg wound was all muscle damage and the doctor says it’ll heal quick and easy. The lower abdomen wound nicked part of your intestines though so that had to be repaired and you need recovery time from the surgery.” She let all that sink in before adding. “You’ll be in the hospital another couple days while they keep an eye on your blood work and digestive function.”
Max absorbed all that and then nodded. “Thanks for being here when I woke up.”
“Where else would I be?” JP asked with a smile. The truth was that she hated being here. She hated being worried about Max. She hated herself for being so selfish, but she absolutely didn’t ever want to be in this position again. She knew this was always a potential part of being involved with a cop, and she knew he was taking equal risk, but… this was exactly why she’d once promised herself she’d never date or be involved with a cop. She didn’t think she could stand to lose him and she knew that she didn’t handle the stress of worrying about a hurt loved one well.
“Yeah,” replied Max, accepting her commitment to being there for him. Not aware of the other thoughts and feelings she was keeping to herself for the moment. “I don’t know…” he said. “Work?”
“I gotta do that later,” JP told him. “Overnights tonight.”
“What time is it?” asked Max.
“Dinner time,” JP replied. “Let me go find a nurse to tell them you’re awake and get you some food… whatever the hell it is you’re allowed to eat.” She smiled at him, kissed him softly and then went to find the nurse.
- - - - - - - - - -
“I thought this VIPER team of yours was supposed to REDUCE the amount of violence and property damage we saw,” said Mayor Driskle. “Based on what happened last night I don’t think they met any of their objectives!”
Chief Beam was calm and patient. He knew that the Mayor was thinking about appearances and votes, not about actual results or circumstances. “Mr. Mayor, when you think about it, although the events were quite different than what we’d hoped for, the end result is the same: The Breakers are all either dead or disbanded and their places of operation are all destroyed. This is NOT how the police department wanted to see the problems resolved, but the challenges we were worried about ARE all resolved.”
“Chief,” said the Mayor in a sarcastic voice, “it’s nice you can put a pretty face on this ugliness. Two business locations destroyed. A residence burned to the ground. Several vehicles blown up. A van burned in the college parking lot; so badly burned, I might add, that it melted the asphalt paving!”
“Mr. Mayor,” Chief Beam continued in his calm voice, “there are no Breakers members left for anyone to target. No Breakers’ properties to be destroyed or attacked. Our own gang unit says there were approximately forty members of the Breakers. We’ve got a total of 34 dead in these attacks, three in the hospital. The few that remain have no place gang related to go or hide. There’s nothing left for their enemies to attack.”
Mayor Driskle stewed. He was upset by the appearance such violence and damage created for Oceanside. The local news outlets were using terms like “gang war” and “third world violence.” He knew they’d milk this for several days unless there was some way to prove closure and from what he could tell, there wasn’t. They still didn’t know who had committed these attacks against The Breakers, or how many of them there were. With The Breakers so thoroughly eradicated, would the attacks stop now? His fear was that whoever had done this to The Breakers would find a new target and keep up the violence. Still, he knew Chief Beam was right. There was nothing they could do for now. The “grand finale,” as one officer had called it, was over. The only officer injured, PFC Max Breaklin, was hospitalized but in fair condition. He’d be released in a day or two barring unforeseen medical challenge. It was best for the city if he, the mayor, put a good face on this somehow. He and his press relations manager would work on that.
“Alright, Chief,” the Mayor said. “If you think the problem is over, then we can disband the task force. No need to keep spending the money on overtime if there’s no real work for them to do.”
“You’re right, Mr. Mayor,” replied Chief Beam. “But let’s not disband them for a couple of days. I’ll keep their hours controlled so they don’t incur overtime UNLESS there is some type of criminal action that requires their response.” The Mayor looked hesitant, so Chief Beam added on, “I want to keep them activated and in place just in case. It’s easier to leave them in place than to have to reactivate them if our mysterious attacker or attackers decide to commit more attacks.”
The Mayor didn’t like it but nodded his agreement. The last thing he wanted was to be blamed for disbanding the task force before there was a higher certainty that the problem had been solved. Such an action could really hurt him in a reelection bid.
- - - - - - - - - -
The beach was dark. JP was distracted by her thoughts about Max, his health, their relationship, her own insecurities and doubts and so much more. She berated herself for not focusing on work. Although it had been a slow night so far, that didn’t mean that all hell couldn’t break loose at any minute. That had been proven by the attack at The Breakers’ house. Thinking about that made her think about Max, still in the hospital recovering from two gunshot wounds. The thought made her want to just go back to the hospital and climb into the bed beside him and hold him; to try and let her strength help heal him. THAT idea stirred up her own fears and insecurities again and the ugly circle of thinking related thoughts just kept going around and around.
On nights like this she didn’t mind walking the beach patrol. The beach unit didn’t have partners because all the equipment and assignments worked better for single officers rather than partners. ATVs sat one person. Walking the beach didn’t require a partner. Bicycles sat one person. The observation chairs were designed for one person. The beach patrol, during the summer months, was augmented by the Rescue & Safety Teams that the city employed; several dozen lifeguards and safety auxiliary personnel. But in the off months, when the beaches were all but deserted and the shops along the boardwalk were closed, the beach patrol unit worked by itself; each officer working by him or herself. It allowed for some personal introspection and quiet, sometimes haunting thoughts, while on patrol.
There was some light that reached the waterline coming from the city lights along the boardwalk. Whether the boardwalk was open or not, the lights stayed lit every night from six p.m. to five a.m. the next morning. Because of the shapes of the dunes and sand, however, there were still many shadows along the waterline. It was a waning tide. High tide was past and going out. It left behind all of the materials so commonly washed up along any shoreline: shells, trash, dead fish… the refuse of the ocean; some of it natural and some of it manmade.
What JP didn’t expect to find was a large chunk left behind; a chunk that, on closer inspection, proved to be a human body. It was the first body JP had ever seen outside of training and certainly the first she’d ever found on the beach. She thought to check for a pulse but, shining her flashlight on it, she realized that would have been a waste of time. The skin was pale; bleached and wrinkled from water saturation. The eyes were open and the corneas glossed over with the grayness of death. Seaweed was hanging from one side of the open mouth which was otherwise full of water. The body was dressed but the clothes looked like they’d been pulled on from all different directions; a common appearance after a body had been tossed around in the ocean’s moving water and waves for any length of time. JP noticed that the body still had on both shoes. Why she noticed that she wouldn’t be able to later say.
She got on her radio and called it in. “Baker 131, dispatch.”
“Baker 131, go ahead,” replied the dispatcher.
“Baker 131, I’ve got a dead body on the beach,” she paused and looked left, orienting herself to the boardwalk. “Down from 4th street right at the water line. Start forensics and the M.E.”
“10-4, Baker 131,” replied the dispatcher. “Homicide as well?”
“Yes, ma’am,” said JP. “Have them look for my light.”
“10-4. Making notifications now,” said the dispatcher.
While she waited for everyone to arrive, JP started looking around the body in an ever widening circle, her flashlight picking out pieces of refuse on the wet sand. She was still looking without results when Bertholemew, better known as Bert, the forensic photographer arrived. With him was Ernest, Ernie, the evidence tech. It was a standing joke that “Bert and Ernie” were the agency’s lead evidence team. To make matters worse, Bert stood six feet nine inches tall and was rail thin while Ernie was about five feet ten inches tall and… well… “obese” would be putting it kindly. Together they started putting out markers, taking pictures and working on a diagram. After putting out some bright yellow stakes in the sand, Ernie laid out a tape measure and then took a picture with his iPad. On that he started marking measurements and notes, literally diagramming the scene directly on the photo.
Nickie Benson, the medical examiner’s assistant and her sidekick, Jeremiah – an intern – showed up a few minutes later. Both of them were grumbling about being gotten up in the middle of the night and how there were no coffee shops open at this hour. Looking at the body, they prepared the items they would need to remove it when Bert and Ernie were done documenting the scene. When all the pictures had been taken and the scene diagrammed properly, Nickie was cleared to check the body for identification and a potential cause of death. Time of death would have to wait until an autopsy was performed and would be based on the growth of some parasites in the corpse. Having been in the water for hours if not days removed the ability of medical personnel to estimate the time of death based on body temperature.
With a pair of gloves on that came up her arms past her elbows, Nickie checked the corpse’s pants pockets and found nothing. Then, being watched by Detective Lieutenant Dick Coleman, who had finally shown up, a travel mug of coffee in hand, Nickie unbuttoned the corpse’s shirt to examine his torso. With help from Jeremiah she rolled the body over and looked at its back. There were no signs of blunt trauma and no injuries she could see. The neck looked uninjured and the ribs all felt intact. Her best guess for cause of death was drowning but, again, the autopsy would determine that. She and Jeremiah bagged the body and put it on the collapsible stretcher they had brought down to the waterline. They cussed Detective Coleman all the way up to their van. He had taken his sweet time getting there… obviously waiting until a cup of coffee was ready. Their lack of caffeine was making them grumpy.
Discuss Episode 5:1 (this episode) on our forums
Editor’s Notes & Officer Survival Concerns
Officer Survival & other comments on Episode 5:1:
Few outside our profession can relate to the fears and complications associated with any shooting situation. They’re not usually aware of how politics can impact police work in all the wrong ways. As we can see in this story, the significant other (JP) of an injured officer (Max) is having her doubts about the relationship due to her own fears of lost stability. We also get to listen in on the conversation between the Mayor and the Chief and see how their concerns are different. Be that as it may, the Mayor’s concerns WILL impact how the Chief acts or reacts because ultimately he answers to the Mayor. Please remember to visit our supporter for this episode: Elbeco Uniforms. Great products to cover you in all your uniform needs.
