Katie took another deep breath. She filled in the Municipal Code for the red light violation and the fine. Images of the dark construction yard flashed through her mind. She shut them off and exited the car.
At the offender’s vehicle, she stood behind the doorpost. The driver was leaning forward with his forehead resting on the steering wheel. He didn’t notice her presence.
“Sir?”
The driver sat up immediately and turned to face her. Her positioning forced him to look over his own shoulder.
“Yes, officer?”
“Sir, what I have for you here is a citation for failing to stop for a steady red light. I need you to sign here,” she pointed. “Your signature is not an admission of guilt, merely a promise to respond.”
She handed him the pen and noticed his hand shook as he took it and signed his name.
“I’m so, so sorry, officer,” he said as he handed the pen back.
Katie nodded. “I can see that, sir. That’s why I didn’t arrest you for reckless driving.”
“I appreciate that.”
Katie tore off his copy of the ticket and handed it to him. “Instructions on how to respond are on the back. You have fifteen days. Do you have any questions?”
The driver shook his head. “No, ma’am.”
Katie gave him a nod and returned to her vehicle. Out of habit, she kept her eye on the offending vehicle as she did so. The driver signaled carefully and pulled back into traffic.
As she reached her own vehicle, a man approached her from the sidewalk. She watched him carefully.
“Can I help you, sir?”
The man lifted the bill of his baseball cap and nodded. “Yeah. I was in the car that guy almost hit. I was wondering, does he have any insurance?”
Katie paused. “Did he cause you to run into something?” She hadn’t seen any collision, but maybe she missed something.
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “But he scared me half to death. Does he have insurance?”
“He did,” Katie told him.
“Can I get the policy number?”
Katie struggled not to show her disbelief. “Sir, there was no accident. He ran a red light and was cited for that.”
“He ran a red light and almost killed me is what happened!”
Katie nodded her understanding. “And I will put exactly what happened in my report.”
“You will?”
“Absolutely.”
The man gave a tug on his cap, considered a moment, then said in a subdued voice, “Well, okay then. But people like that shouldn’t have a license!”
“You’re probably right.”
He watched her for moment before shrugging. “All right then.”
“Have a nice night.”
The man paused again, looking at her. He tugged his cap, adjusted his belt-line, then turned and walked back toward his car.
Katie wondered what she would find if she checked his license status. He was probably in suspended status. She cleared her traffic stop with the appropriate code and started thinking about a nice cold Pepsi.
The convenience store at Monroe and Alvarado was considered officer-friendly. Katie pulled into the lot and backed her car into a parking place near the door. She turned her portable radio on as she got out of the car. Since she only planned on being a few minutes, she decided not to check out with radio. It was really none of their business that she needed a drink.
Patrons stared as she entered the store. She could read their minds from the looks on their faces. A woman cop? After almost three years on the job, Katie had grown used to it. Some people were just surprised, others resentful, and some people found it amusing. She had been in several situations where a male suspect did not think she was serious about arresting him. He found out differently, even if it took baton strikes or pepper mace. The tools of her trade didn’t care which gender of hands applied them, as the suspect-now-arrestee discovered.
From the cooler, Katie selected a large bottle of Pepsi and approached the counter.
“Adam-114, Adam-116.”
“Adam-114, Regal and Olympic.” Matt Westboard, a five-year veteran, answered with his location.
Katie answered up, knowing now that everyone listening to the north side channel would know she was on portable and hadn’t checked out. Oh, well.
The dispatcher continued with the call, “A D-V, 2711 N. Waterbury. Complainant lives next door. Says he hears a male and female voice yelling and it sounds violent. The house comes back to a Marc Elliot and Angie Phillips. Checking both names now. 2711 N. Waterbury.”
Katie copied the transmission, set down the Pepsi and hurried to her car. She ignored the fascinated patrons who watched her go. She was only a few blocks away from the house. She knew Westboard was a ways off, but that shouldn’t matter. More frustrated NASCAR driver than cop, he’d make good time.
Katie shot out of the lot with her lights flashing and cut onto a side street. At Howard, one block before Waterbury, she swung north and traveled parallel to the 2700 block. 2711 would be on the west side of the street, she knew, so she parked just west of Waterbury, out of sight.
“Adam-116, on scene,” she told radio.
Exiting the car, she slid her side-handle baton into its holder and walked south through the front yards. The mixed smells of a warm summer night swirled around her in the light wind-gasoline, barbeques and cut grass. When she reached 2711, the third house from the corner, she could hear frenzied yelling inside. The hair on the back of her neck stood up. The reassuring tap of her baton against the back of her leg and the comfortable weight of the gun on her right hip provided welcome reassurance.
A huge tree stood off-center in the yard and Katie took up a position behind it. ‘Thank God for all the trees in River City,’she thought. Not only were they beautiful, but they made excellent cover and concealment.
The screaming and yelling continued. Katie listened carefully but heard only words that she couldn’t make out and some crying. From the sound of things, nothing was being broken. It didn’t sound like an ongoing assault, either. Of course, she reminded herself, that didn’t mean it hadn’t already happened or wouldn’t still happen.
“Adam-116 and -114, Marc Elliot is in with a misdemeanor warrant, which has been confirmed. He has an extensive record, including two convictions for Domestic Violence assault and several controlled substance entries.”
So we’ll be arresting him no matter what, Katie thought pleasantly. The way he was screaming at her, he needed to go to jail.
Katie listened for another long minute before she heard a female voice scream, “No, Marc, I’m sorry!” A cry of pain followed, though she heard no sound of strikes.
She clenched her teeth and debated whether or not to go in alone. Westboard was probably less than a minute away. Still, a minute in a fight is an eternity. Hart’s admonition following her lone pursuit of the guy through the construction yard still rang in her ears.
But if this woman’s been hurt. .
Her decision became moot as a dark figure burst out the front door and hurried down the steps. In the glaring porch light, she could see that his hands were covered in dark red. Blood splattered his face and shirt. Katie immediately spotted a long hunting knife in his right hand. She drew her weapon and pointed it at him.
“Police, don’t move!”
The man turned slowly to face her. His face seemed askew and even at the distance of seven yards, she could see the craziness in his eyes.
“Put the knife down!” she ordered. “Now!”
He continued to stare at her.
Katie keyed her shoulder mike with her left hand. “Adam-116, have him step it up.”
“Copy. Adam-114, step it up. Adam-113?”
“-13, responding.”
“Adam-116.” Katie’s breathing quickened.
“Go ahead.”