Everyone needs a break

Everyone needs a break from their job and Police are no different.  Sole charge stations are hard for staff to get breaks, as they have to negotiate well in advance so city Police can cover.

I went to Ngatea on the Hauraki Plains; a sleepy little rural town, whose main income was from farming.  I stayed at the local hotel. The Police Station attached, to the Police house gave me full access to Bob, the local Policeman.  Bob took the duck-shooting season off every year so the bosses knew well in advance when he needed his breaks.

One night Bob invited the local traffic cop and me to his house for tea.  We had just settled down to a convivial evening when the phone rang.  There was a serious accident on one of the main state highways.  

As I was rushing out the door, Bob called out.

“It’ll be a fatal; they always are in that spot.”

City policing is about teamwork and back up.  At Ngatea I was on my own.  I rushed out to the scene about ten minute’s fast drive from the Police Station.  The Traffic cop followed at a distance.  As I came onto the long straight, I could see the lights of parked vehicles ahead.  One of the vehicles was lit up as a Christmas tree.  I pulled the patrol car to the side of the road and left the red flashing lights on.  The traffic cop stopped further down the road for traffic control.

There was a milk truck on the side of the road; this was the vehicle with a large number of lights going.  On the road a fully laden logging truck and a car sheared in half.   The milkman told me there was a man in the car in bad shape and his wife was in the farmhouse adjacent to the accident scene.  It was instantly obvious the logging truck had collided with the car and first impressions were the logging truck had hit the car on the wrong side of the road.

I had to crawl up into the car to check on him.   He was semi-alive. Lying along sided of him, I checked his pulse; it was very weak.  He barely was able to make a sound.

The Ambulance had to come from Thames and was call out volunteers.  This night was the fastest I got an Ambulance to any incident – 45 minutes.   I made the decision to stay with the dying man until the Ambulance arrived.  I kept looking into the darkness praying for a speedy arrival.  Lying inside a wrecked car with a dying man the world feels slow motion.  I kept talking to him about how help was on the way.  The road is incredibly dark and there does not appear to be a moon.  I will never know what was going through the drivers mind, but I was not going to let someone die alone. 

After an eternity, a flashing light appears at the end of the straight.  Finally!  My jubilation at the sight of the flashing lights took my concentration away from the driver.    When I looked at him again, it was too late; he was dead.  I slowly crawled my way out of the car and stood beside it, numb.  The Ambulance crew rushed to my side – they saw my uniform covered in blood and thought I was injured.  I explained that I was okay but we had a fatality in the car.  I then remembered the wife inside the farmhouse.  I had no idea about her injuries. 

The two ambulance officers and I rushed into the house.  The wife was sitting at the kitchen table finishing another cup of tea. 

She did not have a mark on her body. 

This was the hardest one to break the news that her husband was dead.  She could not comprehend that she was uninjured and her husband was dead.  We took her out to the car to show that he was indeed dead.  She wanted to stay and watch us remove him from the wreck, which we did not initially object too.  However, when we started to try to extricate the body from the car we realised the extent of his massive injuries.  His legs were coming out, but not the torso.  One of the Ambulance officers took the wife back into the farmhouse. 

After much discussion I crawled back into the car and tied the deceased to myself and slowly we came out together to keep the body intact.    I have no recollection of the time it took, but time was not a relevant thought – dignity was more important. 

The Ambulance took the body to the Thames Mortuary and I radioed the Thames Police and asked them to do that part of the accident for me.  I still had a logging truck driver to deal with.

As I got near the logging truck, the driver climbed out of the cab.  I could smell the alcohol on him.  He was honest stating that he had stopped at the Tapu Tavern and had a few beers.  I gave him a breathalyser test, which he failed.  I had to take him to the Thames Police Station for further tests, but I still had a scene to clear up.  The Traffic Cop was still a distance down the road with his lights flashing. 

Then the milk truck driver approached me.  He was a former traffic cop, he offered to organise the tow truck for me, and he would stay guard on the logging truck until I decided what to do.

I took the logging truck driver to Thames, but he was okay with the second test.  He had not drunk for nearly two hours at this stage, so there was nothing more to be done in that regard.  I drove him back to his truck and said we would be talking again.

I went back to the hotel where I was staying and collapsed on my bed with exhaustion.  The paper work could wait until tomorrow.

The next day I had to go and interview the farmers and all the other witnesses including the milk truck driver.  The paperwork war was about to begin.  It was early evening and I was still at the station doing the paperwork when the hotel rang.

“There’s been a fight and we need an ambulance.  They are still fighting in the car park.”

I rang for an Ambulance before heading down to the hotel.  As I drove in, there were four males, who had another pinned against a parked car and they were discussing the meaning of life as only rural folk can.  I jumped in between them, as I feared for the male pinned against the car.  I did not want a homicide on my hands.

“He tried to kill our mate.”

“That does not justify you killing him.”

I handcuffed the “victim” and put him in the back seat of the patrol car.

I approached one of the locals. “You are my deputy – guard him with your life.  One more injury and I will have bits of your anatomy you will not want me possessing.”

I went back into the hotel to try to make sense of the call for an Ambulance.  A crowd gathered around another bloke who was bleeding profusely from his head.  I went to examine him and saw a massive gash across his forehead, millimetres from his eye.

The “victim” in my car had come in and ordered a beer.  He drank it and then without warning threw the glass across the bar and smashing into a patrons face.  No one knew my “victim”; he was not a local.  I asked Jock the Hotelier to record all witnesses’ details for me, as I had to take my prisoner to Thames.  I could interview everyone tomorrow.  Staying at the hotel was an advantage as Jock and I got on really well.  The new victim bandaged up enough to keep him in one piece until the Ambulance arrived about an hour later.

My “deputy” stayed in the back seat with the prisoner.  I started the drive to Thames.

“You have to be the dumbest bugger I’ve ever known.  Smashing a local in the face like that – you are lucky I was there as quick as I was or it would be all over for you.”

The answer flattened me. 

I did my arrest file at Thames as I still had a fatal accident file ahead of me when I got back to Ngatea.  In the file, I put the explanation given to me.

Judge Wilson asked the next day whether I had recorded the facts correctly and the offender said yes. 

His explanation:  I have just come out of prison after years.  I am scared of the outside and want to go back.  At least they feed me and give me a bed.

The Judge obliged and put him back in prison for another eighteen months.

It took days to do all the paperwork for the fatal accident.  The logging truck driver convicted of careless driving causing death and got a fine. 

Then things got busy at Ngatea but that is another story.  I went home after four weeks without having had a day off and averaging twelve-hour days.  I wanted a break and I was not in a rush to go back to another quiet country Police Station.

Bruce Howat (NZ)