Chapter two - Hanging by a Thread

Phil, the Detective Inspector of the Armed Offenders Squad (AOS) is at night shift parade.  When Phil comes to the change of shift it means something big is “going down”

Phil is six feet 2 inches tall, solid build, wavy light brown crew cut hairstyle, and I gather from what some of the Policewoman say; he is handsome.  The phrase a few use – “I wouldn’t mind his slippers under my bed.”  

Phil advises there is to be a dawn raid by the AOS in the Coromandel Peninsula.  The Criminal Investigations Branch (CIB) has very reliable information that a dangerous escaped prisoner is hiding in a bush hut in the hills at the back of Tairua.  It will not affect the shift, but as the night shift Dog Handler, I have to attend and there will be no dog coverage in the city.   The AOS is leaving at 1:00am and I am to report to the squad room at that time.

The escapee has a history of violence and a propensity to use firearms.  The property is about a kilometre in from the nearest road, so we have a good bush trek ahead of us.  Phil wants to “hit the house” just on the break of day.  The drive is going to take about two hours, before we start the walk in the dark.

The drive to the rendezvous point is routine.  We gather for our next briefing.

Phil allocates staff into the various squads and for the first time ever, German Shepherd Police dog Cara and I stay at the base.  The base is right next to the house.  Phil wants Cara to be available if the escapee makes a break for it and she can “take him out” with ease.

It is a beautiful starlit night.  The bush is dense, dark and the scent of dew on ferns tantalises our sense of smell.  There is no clearly defined path and no torches allowed operating until it is over. The ten of us start the trek in to the cottage.   I let Cara run free until we get close.  She loves the bush - all new and exciting smells to check out as she darts here and there.  The major danger is she gives one of the squad members a fright.  Cara is small and jet-black except for three white hairs in middle of her chest.  Cara is able to move with speed and silence at the same time. 

The bush trek is slow as we have no clearly defined path to follow and so we often stop to debate through hushed voices whether we are heading in the right direction.  After about twenty minutes, we see the silhouette of a tin bush cottage ahead.  The lead member signals everyone to stop. We are too close for voices, for in the silent night even a whispered voice booms. 

There is still an hour to go to the break of dawn.  The bush wraps us in the night damp.  The thought of another hour is too much.  Phil decides we will wait no longer.  He signals the two squads to move into position.  One will enter via the back door and the other via front.  Phil and I are watching the front door and squad.  We wait for the back squad to have enough time to get into position, and then Phil signals the front squad.  They smash down the front door and rush inside yelling, “Police, this is a raid.”  We hear the back squad making similar noise.

Cara is lying on the ground beside me, her expression showing annoyance at not being involved in all the action.  We hear the squad members inside the house; they are moving through it checking rooms.  Next thing Cara is on her feet and pulling at her lead.  She wants to go into the bush behind the cottage.  I hold her tightly on the lead.  One of the squad members calls out “House is empty Sir.”  Phil stamps his foot in disgust and annoyance. 

“Excuse me boss, but I think our offender is in the bush,” I advise Phil.

“Impossible,” is Phil’s retort.

“Check out Cara” I argue as I pursue the matter.

“What are you suggesting,” he scoffed.

“Let me let her check out what she is indicating.  There can be no harm in that.” I suggest.

“All right,” his voice settles down to consider any possibility.

I take the lead off Cara and she bolts for the bush.  I give her the attack command.  If my suspicions are right, we have a very dangerous person in the bush and I want her to get him.

We wait and wait.  We can hear Cara in the bush and she does not appear to be moving away from one spot.  I egg her on.  I decide to move towards her.  Phil orders a rifleman to go with me.  I keep encouraging Cara even though I do not know what is happening in the bush.

“Rouse, rouse” followed by “good girl.”

Then I hear her growling and then a slight scream.  I deliberately drop to the ground and so does the rifleman.  Phil drops down and orders another couple of riflemen to come and give me cover.  I pull my regulation Police 38 pistol out of its leather holster and crawl forward.  I then go through the next layer of bush, working as silently and fast as I can.  Suddenly there is Cara in front of me and she is biting our escapee.  He is doing his best not to make any noise.  He is in his mid-thirties, unshaven, unkempt hair, with just black and white striped boxer shorts. His white skin contrasts in the moon rays with Cara’s black coat. 

“Police, put your arms in the air so I can see them.”  He puts his both hands up and asks ever so politely for me to call Cara off.  Two of the riflemen rush up as I go in, turn him onto his stomach, twisting his arms behind his back, and put the handcuffs on.  I check that the riflemen have the guns aimed at him, not me throughout the whole procedure.  Cara is pulling at his legs trying to drag him out into the open.  Her black fluffy tail is wagging furiously.  She loves this.  We help her and drag him out into the open.  I then call Cara off and put her back on her lead.

The prisoner goes back into the house and one of the squad members, a Detective, starts to interview him.   I am standing around talking with Phil and the riflemen and Cara is lying by my feet.  The grass is long, at least eight or nine inches.  Cara is washing herself, which is usual.  By this stage, those with torches are using them to check around the grounds.

“Are you bleeding Bruce?” one of them asks me.

“No, should I be,” I laugh.

“Well what is all the blood at your feet?” he asks.

I grab his torch and look down at the grass at my feet.  There is blood everywhere.  I then realise Cara is washing her paw.  I make her roll onto her back so I can examine her properly.  Her front left paw pad is hanging by a thread of sinew and she is bleeding heavily.  The squad has a first aid kit with them and I grab for it, get a bandage out, and wrap her paw to slow down the bleeding.   She needs to see a vet – fast.   My heart is bleeding for my wee girl.

Phil calls Hamilton and asks where the nearest emergency vet is located.  We wait for ages and eventually they come back that I will have to take Cara to Thames.  I decide our quickest way back to the vehicle is to let her run, knowing it will cause damage, but it would take too long to carry her out.  My guts are churning; Cara and I have been through too much together – I just cannot stand the thought of losing her.  I struggle to hold back the tears as we get through the bush as fast as we can.  I had always joked with my wife never to ask me to choose between her and the dog – my life relied on Cara.    

We eventually get back and I lift her into the back.  The blood is coming through her bandages and she is not her usual chirpy self.  Cara has a huge pain threshold but this injury is a test.   She lies down and I wrap a couple of my jerseys around her.  The road back to Thames is windy and hilly, but I do not want to go slow – I want emergency help as fast as we can get it. 

I keep trying to look in her kennel, through my rear vision mirror, as we weave and wind our way through the hills, but she is lying down.  Many a time I am tempted to stop and check on her, but getting to the vets quickly makes sense.  Eventually we come down out of the hills and turn right into Thames.    I do not slow down as we come into the township, but the vet is on this side of town so we are quickly coming to a screeching halt outside the clinic.  The trip is normally forty minutes but we have done it in less.

I rush around the back of the van and open the door, fearing the worst.  Cara is just lying there and her kennel is blood red.  I am sure she is smiling at me as I climb in a start to lift her out.

“Can I help?” calls the woman vet, in her green overalls.  Her voice has a calming effect on me and I struggle to hold back the tears as I say yes.  The vet is in her mid-forties, about 5’6” and medium build.  I am not paying much attention as to how attractive she is: I just want her to put my Cara back together again.  She has an old grey blanket and we put Cara on it and carry her into the clinic. The clinic smells of disinfectant and a distraught animal odour.

“Are you all right?  Should I call a Doctor for you?” asks the vet.  At first, I am puzzled and then realise my uniform is covered in Cara’s blood.  I almost lose it.

“It is Cara’s blood,” I explain.  She smiles and I relax just a bit. 

“Let’s put her on the surgery table,” she instructs. 

“I need her to sit so I can examine her paw properly,” she tells me.  Dragged out of bed to tend to an injured Police dog and she is caring and sensitive.  We both lift Cara onto the stainless steel table.  The polished top is slippery, but meticulously clean. 

I command Cara to sit and she obeys.  Next thing the vet has a bandage and looks like she is going to muzzle Cara.

“What are you doing?” I enquire.

“She’s a Police dog and I am not treating her without a muzzle.”  I realise the Vet is nervous of Cara.

“She will give less problems not muzzled,” I explain.  The vet looks deeply into my eyes to see how trustworthy I am.  She starts to unwind my poorly administered paw bandage.  The pad falls away, swinging on a single thread.  Cara receives local painkiller and stitches.  She sits still through the whole operation, watching the vet with intense interest.  When the vet finishes she looks into Cara’s eyes and Cara gave a big lick as thank you. 

*********

Where Cara caught the escapee, was the rubbish tip for the cottage and there was broken bottles. 

Cara was off work for three weeks for her paw to heal and so I used the opportunity for one of the rare opportunities to take some annual leave.